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Back The Empress Save as PDF
Chapters (68)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1853
  4. PART I
  5. ONE
  6. TWO
  7. THREE
  8. FOUR
  9. FIVE
  10. SIX
  11. SEVEN
  12. EIGHT
  13. NINE
  14. TEN
  15. ELEVEN
  16. TWELVE
  17. THIRTEEN
  18. FOURTEEN
  19. FIFTEEN
  20. SIXTEEN
  21. SEVENTEEN
  22. EIGHTEEN
  23. NINETEEN
  24. TWENTY
  25. TWENTY-ONE
  26. TWENTY-TWO
  27. TWENTY-THREE
  28. TWENTY-FOUR
  29. TWENTY-FIVE
  30. TWENTY-SIX
  31. TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. TWENTY-NINE
  34. THIRTY
  35. THIRTY-ONE
  36. THIRTY-TWO
  37. THIRTY-THREE
  38. THIRTY-FOUR
  39. THIRTY-FIVE
  40. THIRTY-SIX
  41. 1854
  42. PART II
  43. THIRTY-SEVEN
  44. THIRTY-EIGHT
  45. THIRTY-NINE
  46. FORTY
  47. FORTY-ONE
  48. FORTY-TWO
  49. FORTY-THREE
  50. FORTY-FOUR
  51. FORTY-FIVE
  52. FORTY-SIX
  53. FORTY-SEVEN
  54. FORTY-EIGHT
  55. FORTY-NINE
  56. FIFTY
  57. FIFTY-ONE
  58. FIFTY-TWO
  59. FIFTY-THREE
  60. FIFTY-FOUR
  61. FIFTY-FIVE
  62. FIFTY-SIX
  63. FIFTY-SEVEN
  64. FIFTY-EIGHT
  65. FIFTY-NINE
  66. SIXTY
  67. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  68. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

THE KISS WAS EVERYTHING. THE NIGHT WAS EVERYTHING. She was everything.

She’d seen him—really seen him—and had thought him strong. He’d told her his truth, and she’d reached for him instead of retreating.

He hadn’t felt this way—ever.

But then she had pulled away. And he knew why: not because of him but them. Her family. His family. The tangled mess of obligations set up by someone else.

She had been so beautiful just then: lips red with kissing, cheeks and neck blushing pink, eyes sparkling, a lock of hair escaping her braid. He wanted to tuck it back in, trail his fingers through her hair.

“You’re going to marry my sister,” she’d said. But couldn’t she see that it didn’t matter anymore? Nothing mattered except this moment—when they’d seen each other so clearly.

But still she had left, turning through the ivy-twined doors. He had reached for her, but she’d slipped through his fingers.

Now he watched her go, braid swinging at her back, the soles of her bare feet peeking out from under a deep-blue skirt. Of course she would be barefoot, as close to the earth as she could get.

He slipped back into the room and took his own shoes off, pressing feet to warm wood, closing his eyes, as if feeling the same thing she felt would keep him close to her. And then, on impulse, he lay down on the floor, tracing it with his fingers, transporting himself back to the afternoon. It was like being a boy again, giving in to whims, feeling everything around him so acutely. The orange of the sconce light. The smoothness of the wood. The smell of lemon lingering in the air.

It was like he’d been dead, and she’d brought him back to life. He’d been gray, and she’d brought things back to color.

But her leaving—

Was she going to ignore this thing that hung in the air between them, this thread connecting them across space? If she felt even half of what he did, she couldn’t possibly.

Could she?

TWENTY-NINE

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FRANZ WENT TO SLEEP REPLAYING THE KISS IN HIS HEAD, and he woke up in a nightmare. The knife was in his neck, and he was on the ground, screaming—except no screams came out. His heart was throwing itself against his rib cage, its last act an attempt at escape. His body grew cold, shivers shuddering through him, each sending a new spasm of pain radiating out from his neck.

No, no, no. He couldn’t leave. He didn’t want to go. The darkness gripped him, ice taking hold of his limbs. Tears burned down his cheeks; screams tore through his body even as they couldn’t escape his mouth.